Missing
by Outlett
Summary: 1940's United States AU! As new information regarding her parents' unforeseeable death at sea surfaces, Elsa Jones turns to Kristoff Bjorgman (her best friend and an FBI agent) for answers. Meanwhile, Hans Fletcher, a renowned Jazz singer, begins to see Elsa as a way to pay off his debt to the Mafia. [Elsanna. Not Incest!] [Elsa/Hans/Anna triangle]
1. Prologue

**Hi, pleased to meet you! I'm supposed to be cleaning my room and preparing to go to college considering I just graduated high school, but instead I'm going to start writing fanfiction and probably lose track of everything else in reality. But that's okay, right? ….Right?**

**Anyway, I like to call myself Outlett, but you may call me Outlett. I'm (currently) an 18 year old guy in one of the south-eastern states, and that's all you'll get out of me!**

**REGARDLESS, I should probably start actually writing the fic now, huh? Yeah, I'll do that, even though I have no idea what it's going to be about, yet. Hope you like it :3**

* * *

"How?" she shook with a small sob, trying desperately to stifle her emotions. An unexplainable chill filled the air.

"DNA analysis has come a long way." a large blonde man, no older than twenty-five, said. He cleared his throat and began to speak again, "We now have evidence that your parents may not have been on the ship when it sank. It's possible that they survived."

The pale girl lifted a cigarette to her lips and took a long, shaky drag, feeling it's warmth course through her body. She wasn't an avid smoker, nor did she particularly agree with the act, but the news she had just received gave her ample reason for a small amount of nicotine to ease her nerves.

The man's professional facade broke at the sight. He placed his satchel on the nearby loveseat and stepped closer to her, "Elsa, I understand that this news may be shocking to you, but," he licked his lips with nervous anticipation, "there's a small chance that they're alive; that they could even be found!"

Elsa turned towards him, flicking her cigarette out the open window, "What can we do to find them, Kris? They could be anywhere in the Atlantic or even on land, and neither you nor anyone else under Uncle Sam has got a single lead! I'm so tired of holding onto this!"

"I thought you'd be happy to know that there was even a possibility…"

Elsa shuddered, fighting back tears as she looked down at her feet, "I am. I just don't have much hope for them anymore…"

Kristoff held back the urge to pull her close to him. Instead, he stepped away to retrieve the satchel, "I've got some information in my bag describing the expedition that's been planned. All I need is your approval and a signature, and my superiors can gather a search party. It'll last approximately thirty days"

"Do you honestly think thirty days will be enough?" Elsa shook her head, plopping down on a white sofa. A calico cat skurried away in fright, suddenly aware of the confrontation between the two.

Kristoff sighed lightly, "Thirty days is a lot longer than usual, Els."

Elsa pulled her knees up to her chest, staring blankly at the television opposite her. Her mind, usually vivid and alive, was nothing more than a bundle of mush with incoherent memories of her childhood bustling throughout it.

"Give me the papers. I'll sign." she whispered, her voice barely audible over the growing storm outside. Heavy rain began to patter against the sidewalk outside, prompting Kristoff to shut the windows before retrieving the papers. Elsa haphazardly scribbled her name on the line and handed him the paper back.

"Aren't you even going to read it?"

"Why should I?"

Kristoff didn't answer; he simply sighed and returned the paper back to his satchel, gently throwing it over his shoulder. He placed his hand lightly on Elsa's shoulder, failing to notice her falling body temperature, "I'm here when you need me."

Elsa nodded, signaling to Kristoff that it was his time to leave. He knew that, in times of grief, she prefered to be alone. With a final look behind him, he slowly shut the door, hearing a soft click.

Finally left alone, Elsa was becoming more and more aware of the falling temperatures that were undoubtedly caused by her inner turmoil that some liked to call 'greif' or 'sorrow'. Or perhaps it was that her mind simply could not handle the amount of emotions tearing through her, as if her brain were overburdened. Slowly, however, the frail girl regained control of herself, but not before a thin layer of frost peppered her sofa.

She should be overjoyed that her mother and father were officially deemed 'missing' instead of 'deceased', yet the feeling of unwavering dread would not leave her. Just as a cloud covers a city before a storm, Elsa knew deep down that her life, as well as many others', had just taken a turn in a hazy, unclear direction.

* * *

Flashes of light, hundreds of screaming fans, this was everything Hans Fletcher could've ever wanted. He had the fame, the fortune, the _women_. Life could not have been better.

Hans, unlike many people of his time, was musically talented at a young age despite being underprivileged. Having mastered the saxophone and the violin in school by the age of fourteen, his chance at the stage was much higher than the commoners of the city.

Hans' father constantly filled his ears with the melodies of swing music which lead to his eventual adoration for the genre. But, just as in every perfect story, there is an ever so small variable that deters from its perfection. Hans, although talented and charismatic, was lacking in the 'financial stability' area of life. So much so that his family had forced him, being the youngest, to drop out of school at the age of fifteen in order to tend to their farm while his twelve older brothers were permitted to continue their education. And although Hans was sufficiently literate in mathematics, science, and literature, he failed to retrieve the one paper that really counted. A diploma.

So, unfortunately, his future was seemingly limited to a lifetime of farming, and that simply was not good enough. Hans, being as desperate as he was, sought help from the Mafia (led by one Frank Martelli). Hans promised that, in exchange for fame and fortune, he would pay Frank three-million dollars within ten years. He would be thirty when his debt was called.

Right then, however, he was twenty-nine and on his third shot of whiskey.

* * *

"Shut up, bitch!" a masked man yelled. In a swift motion, the butt of his pistol slammed into a woman's temple, knocking her cold. She now lay next to a younger woman, about eighteen, who had already been knocked unconscious.

"Davey, we don't have time for this." a second masked man with a thick New York accent mumbled, "The boss wants her and the kid like yesterday! And he wants them alive."

"Yeah...maybe I ought'a take this doll for myself, eh?"

"The boss won't like that. You wouldn't last more than a couple of days before you're bustin' rocks in the can." He hiked the young woman over his shoulder.

"Maybe." Davey sighed, "We should get out'a here before the cops show up. They'll be here soon; this guy's one'a those glitterati types. Got the coppers wrapped around his pinky 'cause he's famous." He scooped the other woman into his arms. The two men exited the home through a back door. They loaded the two victims into the boot of a Cadillac Town Sedan and sped through an alley and into the night.


	2. The Watch

Elsa lied alone, still in her apartment. She wasn't sure just how long she'd been there in that position, but she was slowly becoming aware of a small amount of sunlight peeking through her shades that painted the room with a light shade of blue.

She grunted, shielding her eyes from a ray of sunlight with her hand. Slowly, she dragged herself into her bathroom. The face looking back at her in the mirror was unrecognizable. This person was sickly with paler-than-usual skin, droopy lips, and bags under her eyes. Sighing, she turned the water on at the faucet and splashed water into her face, rubbing her eyes to try to get her dreariness to fade.

It wasn't working.

"Shower-time, I suppose…" she murmured. As soon as the thought of a nice shower entered her mind, a loud knock erupted from her door.

"Elsa, open up! It's important!" a burly voice shouted. Groaning, Elsa shut off the water and waltzed to the door.

"What is it, Kris? Its early." she was surprised to see that he was already dressed this early in the morning.

"Jeez Elsa, you look awful."

Elsa deadpanned, "Thanks."

"Oh, I-I'm sorry! I didn't mean to-um." he rubbed the back of his head and entered the apartment awkwardly, "Anyway, I came to tell you that…"

"That _what_?" she questioned. She noticed she could have worded it more nicely.

"That...I might have a lead on your parents."

"You...what?" A pang of emotions hit her. Happiness, grief, despair, skepticism, satisfaction. It was written on her face. Her eyes full of hope she wasn't aware she had, her lips forming a slight downward curve.

"Yeah, thats the good news. The bad news is who I got the information from…" Elsa stared expectantly as Kristoff fumbled with is tie, "Frank Martelli seems to know something."

Elsa's inner skeptic was correct, as usual; something definitely was awry, "You're talking about the mob boss, right?" Kristoff nodded, "How does scum like _him _know anything about my parents? What does he know?!" Anger, resentment, fear. History flashed before her eyes.

"Calm down, Elsa." Kristoff commanded, "I need you to calm down if we're to get to the bottom

of this, alright?". If he had been a bit more perceptive, he would have noticed the dropping temperature.

"Fine." Elsa left the door and plopped down onto the couch, inviting him further into the room, "I'm calm. Now what else do you know?"

Kristoff closed the door and, just as before, placed his satchel on the white loveseat, "Not much. All I know is that we have to keep quiet about this, and by 'we' I mean 'you'. If anyone finds out that we're negotiating with the Mafia, we'll be in the slammer."

Elsa nodded in agreement, "So what now?" Although she hated to admit it, she was utterly and completely clueless. But the thought of actually finding her family was something she simply could not pass up. At this point, negotiating with terrorists was her least concern.

"We're meeting with Mr. Martelli tonight at nine o'clock in the Rock District." The Rock District was the part of the city that your mother would warn you not to go into. Even police officers rarely ventured into that part of the city, and with good reason. Different groups of gangsters, along with Martelli himself, could almost always be found hanging around the dark alleyways and shadowy streets of the Rock District.

"Whoa, whoa, what do you mean 'we'?!"

"I mean the literal, English version. The one meaning 'you and I'."

Elsa's eyes widened ever so slightly. Flashbacks of long-forgotten memories played through her head in fast-forward. She breathed heavily, "Okay...okay, I'll be ready when you get here. Do you have any idea what you're going to say to him?"

Kristoff grinned, "Of course I do. I'm a detective."

* * *

It had been an hour since the two had arrived. Frank Martelli had a reputation for being fashionably late. Whether it was to gather his entourage of 'friends', gather his thoughts, or simply to aggravate people, no one knew.

Kristoff wrapped his arm around Elsa, "You can have my jacket if you want."

"I'm not cold." she wasn't lying. She was petrified. Horrified. She wasn't as strong and people made her out to be.

Kristoff shrugged. A pair of headlights came around the corner and the pair knew without a doubt that it was Martelli. His car was unmistakable; a green Cadillac Sedan.

"Let me do the talking, alright Els?" she nodded. The use of her nickname always brightened her spirits, and Kristoff knew it. The effects were striking, if only for a few moments. Those moments, however, were fleeting. The driver's side door opened and a pair of shiny, newly polished dress shoes stepped their way out of the vehicle. The man carefully closed the door and strode slowly towards them.

"Ah, Kristoff Bjorgman…" he chuckled, "Ace detective of the Federal Bureau of Investigations. How may I help you? Or are you here to put me in the can?"

The way this man talked was peculiar, to say the least. He was an uneducated New Yorker, certainly, but his dialect was mesmerizing. If one were to meet him on the street, they would mistake him for a chivalrous man with good intentions. Charisma was this man's game, and he knew how to play it. He knew how to play anyone or anything.

"Actually, Martelli, we could use some assistance." he grimaced, "And I think you know exactly what we need."

"Cryptic, huh?" Frank smiled a smile that could be mistaken to be genuine, "Yeah, I got the scoop."

Kristoff could feel Elsa trembling, and he dared not let go, "Well?"

"You know, I'd be much more comfortable if Ice Queen over there weren't here."

Kristoff's eyebrow raised. Ice Queen? Since when has anyone called Elsa that? Since when did Frank even know Elsa?

Elsa shook, "Kris, I'll be in the car." she hurriedly fled to the car, locking the doors behind her. He'd never seen her act like this, ever.

Kristoff's eyebrows narrowed, his mouth turned to a frown, "What do you know about her? About her parents? Why did you call her the 'Ice Queen'?" Frank simply grinned, "Answer me!"

"All in due time, Detective Bjorgman. For now, I'll just give you a hint." Frank reached into the pocket of his jacket, "Here. Give Ms. Jones my regards."

A golden pocket watch with a symbol he swore he'd seen before was tossed into his arms. Before he could ask any more questions, Martelli's car had already sped away.

He took a closer look at the symbol, realizing what it was. He'd seen it in books about the Assyrian rooms in Paris, the Temple of Osiris in Egypt, and in several of Leonardo Da Vinci's paintings.

It was the Flower of Life.


End file.
